


Mordices

by Hyobe



Series: Mordices!verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Cannibalism, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Mention of Physical Abuse, Season 1, Stanford Era, Wincest - Freeform, cases fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 19:05:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13254720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyobe/pseuds/Hyobe
Summary: After four years of not talking or seeing each other Sam and Dean meet again when Dean comes to Stanford to ask his help with a case Dad has him on. Little did they know that what they expected was miles away from the reality of the situation.





	Mordices

**Author's Note:**

> This work is inspired by "La morsure des ténèbres" by Brigitte Aubert and I hope you'll like it. There are a lot of graphic depiction of violence of course, sex, pop culture reference from that time and angst (because I love it !). If any of that disturbs you, I am sorry and you are welcome to go read any of my previous work ! 
> 
> Enjoy your read and Happy New Year :)

**CHAPTER ONE**

 

 

     Now that he was here he wondered if it really was a good idea. Each step he took made him uneasy, his pulse accelerate and his sweat dripping more and more on his forehead and armpits. Maybe he should just go, but he had drove a long way here, he was tired. Exhausted. And if he succeeded his night was far from over. Quite the contrary actually, he’d have to drive an excessive amount of miles to his next destination.

  
He exhaled. Inhaled, exhaled, inhaled.

  
« - I’m a big boy, I can do it. I’ve seen worse. » He whispered to himself, one hand ready to open the metallic door in front of him. It caught his attention that it was very pretty. Too pretty for a college dorm, but then again he never reached this level in his scholar history. Did he regret it ? Maybe, probably, yeah. He didn’t have time to think about it. Two swift moves and he was climbing the stairs. A couple of steps and he was inside the small appartement. He looked around, pictures, plants, vegetables, more plants, dog pictures (what the heck), notebooks and all that shit students usually use. It seemed to be the main room, or so he assumed. He tip-toed to the kitchen, maybe there was something he could drink. Thirst had been an issue, it shouldn’t have been one in the first place but he… he forgets sometimes. And he doesn’t always have enough money to buy himself a drink or even food. Perhaps it’d be easier now if he succeeded. Perhaps. Fingers curling on the ridiculously large fridge, he opened it as discreetly as humanly possible. And then frowned as he inspected what was in it. Salads, carrots, tomatoes, cucumbers, olives, avocados, mangos, strawberries, raspberries, salmon, beef, corn, soft drinks, beer, two or three bottles of water, ice cream and even cakes. He couldn’t remember when was the last time he’d seen that much food in a fridge. For a while he just stared at all this. Sure, he would never eat that much healthy food without mixing it with a burger, fries or beer but they all looked so deliciously tempting. What if he took some ? No one would notice right ? He looked around and it didn’t look like they had any sort of strange list where they noted everything they bought — so they are health freaks but not neat freaks, good to know —, meaning he could grab a mango, and the strawberries. Always give love to the strawberries. If he could he’d take the ice cream but he didn’t want it to melt. But he stayed in front of this fridge and grabbed the ice cream, popping it open to dive his index into it and curl it before pushing it against his tongue. He could be moaning right now and he wouldn’t know it. This vanilla ice cream was the shit ! Never in his life had he put his hands on something this good. He’d have to ask where they bought it, with subtlety though, wouldn’t it be creepy. Well, breaking into an apartment at night was already creepy enough, him stealing their food wouldn’t be weirder would it ?

  
He yawned and grabbed some more ice-cream before putting the pot back where it had been. Yeah, maybe they won’t immediately notice then. Maybe. There was a lot of maybe’s in his life recently. He dismissed that thought. No need to put himself under more pressure. _Yeah. No need to do that_.

  
« - Time to explore the rest of that apartment. » He pushes himself up to his feet and opens quietly door, but it creaks. « - Of course they don’t oil shit around here. » The man mumbles under his breath. He turns slightly, noticing a faint light reflecting from his right. That’s it, he thinks. Finally, he found what he was searching for. In his head, he counts to ten, that’s the time he’ll need to put the boy down on his back. One, he dodges the knife coming for his arm. Two, he grabs his aggressor by the wrist. Three, he twist it. Four, he grabs the knife. Five, he throws it on the sofa. Six, he slides his leg between the boy’s. Eight, he gives an impulse strong enough to sweep the legs from under the boy. Nine, he makes sure he doesn’t hurt himself too much when he hits the floor. Ten, he’s pining him to the floor.

  
He feels him arch a little, pushing as much as he can before the lights goes on in his head and he realizes who is on top of him. His big brother.  
« - Easy tiger. » He smiles. God is he happy. « - Dean ? You scared the crap outta me. » Sam whispers, heaving up and down. Dean loves it, he feels his little brother’s pulse under his hands matching his own, a perfect rhythm. « - That’s ‘cause you’re out of practice. » he whispers, not knowing that in a second he’d be the one on his back. And Sam slams him hard, sitting on his middle as he blocks his legs with his and pins his wrists to the floor. They’re still in complete dark, the only light present being the moon’s caressing their skins. Dean stays there, watching Sam from an angle he hadn’t seen in a while. An angle he missed oh so very much. He gulped, melancholy piercing his heart for an instant.

  
His brother had changed so much since last time. Longer bangs, stronger limbs, firmer looks, was that a new kind of bitchface he had developed ? He could sense that Sam was putting him under the same kind of scrutiny. What was he wondering ? Did he thought Dean had changed too ? Most likely yes. They had both changed.

  
The pressure on his wrist had lowered and so he took his chance, pushed them away as he threw his hands towards Sam face, placing both cheeks against his palms, his mouth colliding with Sam’s. It felt so good he could cry. It felt like he met again with happiness, with home and safe. As if he’d finally reached summer after years of icy winters. He stayed there, pressing softly, waiting for Sam’s response who didn’t took much time to come, he simply gave a small lick before pushing his tongue inside his brother’s mouth, caressing with his tongue the insides of it. It was velvety, burning. Sinful. But he had missed this too, he had wanted it too ever since he left and now that he had it, he couldn’t get enough. Even though he had to get enough, he had to stop. Sam softly placed his hands against Dean’s hips as he pushed him away, standing up afterwards and offering his hand to Dean.

  
« - I missed you. » Sam rolled his eyes.  
« - You missed me so much you stayed away from a phone for four years Dean. You didn’t miss me. »  
« - I lost your number the first year. » It was a lie, a lame one but he couldn’t bring himself to tell the truth. During the first two years he had been sad and bitter, it was like Sam’s departure — he considered it as a betrayal ‘cause the kid could have told him instead of leaving like that and proposing last minute ‘cause Dean found the acceptance letter — was an open wound that never really healed. He thought it would never heal, but seeing Sam soothed it. Only Sam had that effect on him, only him. And the two last year he just didn’t wish to think about it. He focused on hunts and his father and girls and sex. Because what would be life without sex and girls.

  
Anyway, Sam saw right through his lie and rolled his eyes again. « - What are you doing here ? » He asked to dismiss the subject. It was getting awkward. « - Well I was looking for a beer. » Dean answered, insisting on the was as he grabbed the knife and put it back in the kitchen. At least Sam hadn’t relaxed in his apple-pie life. His brother moved behind him, glaring. Skepticism would be an euphemism. He was absolutely sure that Dean was lying to him through his teeth. And when Dean lied to him it always meant troubles.

« - Okay, okay we gotta talk. » The eldest announced, defeated.  
« - Um. The phone …? ».  
« - I told you why I didn’t call, but even if I did , would you have picked up ? »

  
Silence. Of course he wouldn’t have picked up. They didn’t part in the best conditions possible. Maybe the worst even. But Dean didn’t know how he was supposed to react to the sudden departure of his loved one. He couldn’t just stay here, hands crossed, smiling as he died inside, slowly and painfully.  
He sighed. Wasn’t that a bummer.

  
« - Sam …? »

  
Suddenly, the room was lit, and there was a girl held by the doorframe. Dean thought she was pretty, and that she resembled him. Green eyes, dirty blond hair, long legs. Yeah, she could be a female version of him. Perhaps prettier. Women would always be more magnificent than men, no need to compete. He grinned, but he didn’t want to grin. He had to be polite, after all it was Sam’s roommate he was meeting. Plus, her smurf t-shirt was very cute, and oversized. « - Dirty blonde, green eyes looks like Sammy has a type. I love the smurfs by the way. » Dean teased, winking. Sam mumbled something as he elbowed his side, a way to tell him it was time to shut up.

  
« - Hey, sorry to wake you. Dean, this is my girlfriend Jessica. » Girlfriend being the key word, the hurtful one too. Dean’s smile faded for an instant but he put it up twice as fast. At least she seemed to be a nice girl.  
« - Wait. Your brother Dean ? »  
« - I gotta tell you, you are completely out of Sam’s league. » It earned him an eye roll this time, and a glare. Sam was pissed ? Good, he wasn’t the only one. Jessica seemed troubled but mostly groggy, they had woken her up after all. « - Just let me put something on— » she said. Dean scoffed. Cute. « - No, I wouldn’t dream of it. Besides I gotta chat with your boyfriend, kind of a private, family thing. » She was definitely cute, but he needed her out of the frame right now, he had to bait Sam into his web. Which wasn’t an easy task. The kid was clever. Dean focused back on the girlfriend who seemed taken aback by his comment. Oh, looks like he just lost points with her « - Oh. Alright. ».  
« - No, whatever you wanna say, you can say it in front of her. » Dean sighed, now Sam was just getting cocky. « - Um. Okay. Dad hasn’t been home in a few days. » That was a nice hook, no way Sam wouldn’t grab it. « - So he’s working overtime on a Miller Time shift. He’ll stumble back sooner or later. » Looks like he was wrong. Not like it was an obstacle, he had more worms in his bag. « - Dad’s on a hunting trip and he hasn’t been home in a few days. » Dead silence. He could see the mechanism start in Sam’s brain as he processed the information. He had him now. « - Jess. Excuse us. We’re gonna talk outside. » Dean couldn’t refrain a smile from emerging on his face. Jessica simply nodded and gave Sam a peck on the lips before she yawned and dived back inside their bedroom. One problem solved, Dean thought. « - You wait here. And don’t touch anything. » Pff, as if he was gonna go through every single piece of information this room held. Not at all. Never. Okay, maybe. Yes, absolutely. « - Why would I ever do that ? », Sam rolled his eyes. He was just annoyed now « - I’m serious, you touch something I’m breaking your fingers. » « - Relax. I’ll wait outside. » Dean surrendered. There was no point in making Sam angry right now. It would be hot though. Angry Sam always made him horny. He exited the small apartment, waiting for about ten minutes beside it’s door before Sam came out only wearing his red Stanford hoodie, a jean and flip-flops. Where he got those Dean didn’t know and didn’t want to know. This was a disgrace, why would Sam ever put his toes —the prettiest toes — into such ugly shoes ? Anyway, they weren’t here for that. For a short instant they stared at each other. Dean liked how the moonlight and the gate created black and white stripes over his brother’s beige skin. Just like that one night in a Californian motel. Red neon lights scratching the somber room, scratching Sam’s sweaty, shivery, naked body.

  
Dean pushed those thoughts far, far away.

  
« - You changed. » Dean whispered. He still couldn’t wrap his head around this fact. Not entirely. « - Of course I changed. Did you expect me to still be a seventeen years old boy ? » Sam hissed back. When did he become so agressive towards him ? « - No. No. » He simply answered. He didn’t know what else he could say. They walked down the stairs in silence, apprehension slipping itself in every step taken. Hearts pounding faster, throats knotted by all they kept unsaid. ‘ _I miss you_ ’,  
                                                    ‘Why did you leave ?’,  
                                                            ‘Why did you lie to me ?’,  
                                                                    ‘How are you ?’,’  
                                                                             ‘Why are you here ?’,  
                                                                                                              ‘ ** _I love you._** ’

Words that never escaped lips. Words that’ll stay unsaid because of the pain, because of how hurt they feel, how hurt they felt. Words that will never be pronounced because of past actions.

  
« - Okay, what do you really want Dean ? » Sam said as he gulped.  
« - He was last seen in a small town in butt-fuck Ohio and I need you to come with me and find him. »  
Sam gave him a skeptical look, not sure if he was lying through his teeth — which he was doing — or if he was being sincere. Such scrutiny made Dean’s skin crawl. It got especially worse when it was Sam’s eyes doing this type of work, with hostility evident in his hazel eyes. He often wondered what went wrong, during this moments mostly. But he knew the answer, they both did.  
« - You can’t expect me to drop everything just because Dad has gotten himself in danger and your pretty face comes here. » He paused. « - Not after everything we went through, not after Dad and his bullshit. »  
« - Oh come on Sam ! When will you stop blaming the guy for everything wrong that happened in our lives ? »  
« - When he’ll act like a normal dad ! » Dean couldn’t counter that one.  
« - He’s still our dad. We gotta save his ass. »  
Sam sighed, looking away. He hadn’t noticed they had maintained eye contact for so long.  
« - You can do it without me Dean. »  
« - Yeah, well I don’t want to. » There was a pause. Dean was looking away, So was Sam. Discomfort.  
« - Why weren’t you with him anyway ? »  
« - I was in San Fransisco when he disappeared. I had a witch case on my ass. »  
« - He let’s you hunt alone ? » Sam said, surprised, they arrived near the Impala now. He allowed his gaze to pass over the old vehicle. Memories.  
« - I’m 26. » And that was all he needed to say. Sam never thought John would let his brother out of the hook. It looked like the frail link keeping them together finally broke. This fact saddened him but at the same time he had severed himself from this family a long time ago. It was for the better was what he told himself. But now, facing Dean, he wasn’t so sure about that.

  
« - Please Sam. Come with me. I need you with me on this one. »

  
He remained silent, hazel eyes running on his brother’s face. ‘Please’. How long had it been since he last heard it roll on his brother’s tongue ? Dripping in emotion. Sometimes it was an huff of exasperation, other times it was a whisper, a moan of pleasure when he begged for him to stop, or to continue. He could remember the nicknames coupled with this plea : ‘Sammy’, ‘Pretty’, ‘Honey’, ‘Darling’, ‘Gorgeous’. No ne ever called him that ever again. Not even Jessica. It was odd how just a five letters word could bring back so many memories. It was odd the power it had on him when it came from Dean.

  
« - Okay, I-I’ll come with you… but I have to be back in two weeks maximum. » He said, looking away in defeat. He wasn’t happy about going back to hunting after all these years. Plus he would have to hang around his father — not a good idea — and Dean who will probably jump him — if their kiss was any indication of his intentions. Recipe for a disaster, a book by the Winchester family.  
« - Why’s that ? » Dean enquired. An eyebrow cocked.  
« - I have an interview. »  
« - For a job ? Skip. »  
« - For lawschool. It’s a full scholarship thing and I really don’t want to miss it. » He scratches his nose as he pronounces those words with a low voice, so low Dean barely ears it. As if Sam didn’t want him to hear it clearly. As if saying it would make it clear that he would never dive back into hunting. As if letting every syllable out would severe their link for the rest of their life. « - Oh. » It breaks him. The realization is like a punch in the guts. He looks at Sam, trembling, torturing his bottom lip between white teeth, and he wonders : What could I have done to keep him ? What could I have ever changed to make him stay with me ? Forever.« - I guess I can drive you back yeah. We wouldn’t want you to miss it. » It’s a lie and they both know it. Dean turns his back to Sam, opens the door to his car but is stopped by Sam’s fingers on his shoulder. Right where his fingers used to sit when they were lover. A tender touch. A confession. He shivers, glares at Sam from behind his shoulder. He hates him. He loves him. He wants to destroy him. He wants to protect him. He wants to make him pay for all the suffering he endured, for all the sacrifices he made, for his ruined life, for taking his love away. Dean is angry, furious. But he won’t show it. He never shows it with Sam. Not like he could.  
« - Dean I want to make things clear. I’m with Jessica now, I’m only accompanying you because it’s Dad. »  
« - And ? What are you getting at with that ? » Annoyance. He is growling and he can’t stop it. He wishes he’d stop it.  
« - So there’s nothing but brotherly things between us. Okay ? » _Fuck you_.

« - Okay. Go pack your stuff, we don’t have time to waste. » He hops into his car, not sparing his brother a look. He needs to punch something, everything. To rip through and crush whatever would come in front of him. Sam. He wants to crush Sam. Dean watches him trot to the stairs, he observes his conversation with Jessica all the while thinking about how pretty he’d look with a broken nose right now. Or a broken heart, so they’d make a perfect pair.

  
He rests his head against the heel of his hands. « - I’m so dumb. » What did he expect ? That Sam would run back to him the second he’d see him ? No. But it still hurt when he makes clear he doesn’t want to be associated with Dean ever again. It still claws at his heart, his insides and he wants to sob, to tear up. He won’t. Sam doesn’t deserves to see him suffer. Never again.

  
Dean looks up again. Sam is kissing Jess, a smile on his face. He used to smile like this for him. They exchanged a couple of words, it seemed to be tender. And Sam was out. Seconds later he was throwing a duffel bag into the trunk and sitting next to Dean one the passenger seat, frowning. Of course he would loose his goddamn smile when he’d sit next to him. Why would he ever smile to him or with him ?

« - We have between one or two days of travel. You still know how to drive ? »  
« - Why wouldn’t I ? » He seems genuinely startled by the question. Dean ignores it, answering with a shrug since he has nothing else to offer. Nothing else he wants to offer.  
« - We’ll take turns. Just sleep. »  
« - Don’t tell me what to do. »

  
Dean shuts up and drives.

* * *

 

      They stop near Omaha in some redneck infested kind of town. It’s the kind of town with a population Sam despises. Ignorants with their two bucks worth knowledge of how life is supposed to be, a wife, two kids and a dog for companions. Infested by guys who crack a cold one with the boys at dawn talking about how the teenage girls next door are growing hot and stuff. Guys who cares more about their guns than their families, guys who’d hang with the KKK because it’s fun and black people aren’t even supposed to be treated like people, guys who’d fuck their goats, guys who’d kill gay people because they are « sinners » but still are active fans of teens around 13 or 15, guys who’s too dumb and engulfed in religion to see past their noses. Egoists, all of them. Rats, all of them.  
Dean doesn’t mind them, he doesn’t care as long as they don’t talk more than necessary. Especially in moments like these where he just drove four hundred miles with little to no stops. He’s exhausted, all he cares about is which bed is he going to crash on. Sam checks them in, takes the bags and tidies everything while he simply makes sure he has a gun and knife under is pillow as he undresses and slips under the covers. Under a minute he was curled on himself, snoring lightly, mouth hanging open. Dean’s always been a cute sleeper and Sam always been a watcher when his brother slept. This time he leaves him be, taking their car’s keys out of the jeans Dean threw on the floor. He can’t dream of finding a salad around here, a fruity one would be a miracle. He pulls his computer out, searching the nearest restaurant or diner that is somewhat decent. There’s one ten minutes from here. He puts the keys back on the table. A little walk won’t kill him. Plus the air’s fresh tonight so he could use a little breeze to calm him down. Right now he’s tense, his shoulders hurts, his jaw hurts, his head is killing him, so are his ears after hours of awkward silence sometimes filled by Dean’s CDs or the radio he turned on once in a while. It’s not that there wasn’t any conversation between them, they exchanged words, it’s just that the icy tone Dean used and his one-word responses didn’t encourage Sam to try more. Who would ? He didn’t know what caused this reaction from his brother, he had an idea but wasn’t one hundred percent sure about how right he was. Probably close.

  
His brother shut him out right after he introduced Jessica, he became hermetic when he had told him that nothing was going to happen between them ever again. He didn’t blame Dean for wanting something that had been and Dean couldn’t blame him for his inability at reviving it. Even if… No. You know you don’t have the right. Sam sighed and stood up, he had to buy food, take a shower and do some research on this pseudo city they were going in. He prayed to God is brother wouldn’t get in trouble while he was out. Even asleep the moron could offend someone.

  
Sam curled his fingers around the door handle, pushing it open to welcome an humid breeze on his face. Abundant rain tonight, he could smell it. Meaning he shouldn’t stay out too long if he didn’t want to get wet. Anyway, he should just head for this diner that was apparently a ten minutes walk from here. And to say most americans would never think about walking for ten minutes. A real disaster. Sam whistled a tune as he made his way to ‘Jerry’s Steak House’, probably something between Black Sabbath and Led Zeppelin — Dean had listened to at least two of their CDs twice when they were on the road, he could probably sing ‘God is Dead’ without making a mistake. It was one of Dean’s favorite songs — It was a great one, Sam could admit to this much. He continued his walk, ignoring the eyes of many drivers. He arrived there sooner than he thought anyway.

  
‘Jerry’s Steak House’ turned out to be a small building made to look like a saloon from the Far West’s era. From outside, it appeared rustic, with three blinking lights, holes in the wood, piss pools on the corners and one or two alcoholics discussing about whatever teen had the biggest tits in town on the stairs. He sneered. As from inside, it was evident they made a real effort to ressemble a saloon : round wooden tables, a very long wooden bar with spit-receptacles next to each high-chairs (leather ones), behind it a long mirror and a myriad of diverse alcohols — some he’d seen, some he’d tested himself, some he never thought could exist (beef vodka ? rattle snake juice ? Kink spirit ?) and some he would never taste — who were in themselves a big part of the decor, stairs on both side of the main room — probably hotel rooms or love rooms, you never knew in those establishments — with a women dressed as a dancer from the Far West — froufrous, corset, obnoxious makeup, high heels — on the right one, she was smoking and giving dirty looks to the clients. There was a small scene next to the bar and a piano-jukebox. It was almost full even thought it was almost midnight now. Shocking. Sam thought it was nice, he just hoped the hygiene in kitchens wasn’t as rustic as the decor.

  
He sat on one of the tables, grabbing the menus between his long fingers as he flipped through it. Beef, pork, sheep, everything but vegetables. Not even a soup, nada. Meat, meat, meat. And he was certain it wasn’t some high quality kind of meat. He sighed.

  
« - What can I give ya ? » A masculine voice questioned behind him. Sam hadn’t seen him coming and it startled him. It was an man between two ages, grey hair but young features with a sun kissed skin and icy blue eyes. He looked like the type of guy that would spoil you to death if you called him Daddy. Plus, he had this strong southern accent that reminded him of his father. Bad omen.  
« - Uuh. What do you recommend ? » He answered, unsure.  
« - Well the Big Mushroom steak is a specialty. Or you could simply take some ribs with french fries and butter sauce. » Sam winced, this sounded way too greasy for it to be healthy.  
« - I’ll go with Big Mushroom. And can I take the ribs to go ? » He cringed internally, it sounded like a dick joke.  
« - Sure thing son. Both on the go ? » Sam took a second to think about it. He didn’t want to go back to Dean but at the same time he had no real desire to stay here. « - Yes please. »

  
Ten minutes later he had his diner in his hands and was ready to leave, not aware of the bodies dropping behind him. And of the numerous flies surrounding the place. He continued on his path, oblivious of the smell of rot propagating into Jerry’s Steak House. Sam whistled again, eyes on the full moon, unconscious of the forms following him, famished and avid, waiting patiently for their prey to stop, to reach it’s destination to finally devour it’s inside, worms and roaches crawling under their skins, escaping their purpling lips.

  
He entered the room, only to find Dean on his back, one hand dangling from the bed while the other one was on his belly, still out. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes as he heard Sam enter, turning his sleepy face towards him. A lazy smile spreading on his cheeks.  
« - You naughty boy. » He said, yawning. « - Who were you with ? Was it a pretty girl ? »  
« - I’m in a relationship Dean, and I don’t cheat. »  
« - Yeah, yeah. We’ll see about that. » Sam just rolled his eyes out of annoyance.  
« - I got you ribs and french fries, the least you could say is ‘thank you my amazing little brother’. Or something in those lines. »  
« - Thank you. Can I sleep now ? »  
« - Go ahead Jerk. I’m sure greasy cold ribs would make for a perfect breakfast. » Dean cocked an eyebrow, pouting. « - I hadn’t even thought about that. Bitch. » He said, sitting straight as he extended his arms for the oh-so desired food. He grabbed the bag, opening his own doggy bag with avid eyes. All the euphoria he had felt towards this meal faded once the smell it him. Covering his nostrils, he looked down at what looked like a rest of corpse covered in butter. It was overcooked, almost brown on some parts while mold was covering the rest of it. And there was fucking maggots crawling inside and out, around it, on it, covering the french fries which looked like shit by the way. This meal must have been from at least two weeks ago. And he was honestly very close to puking all the food he had bitten down in the last twenty four hours. Sam caught the horrified grimace on his brother face, wondering what was that all about as he opened his own doggy bag, catching the same culinary disaster. Maggots, mold, and the sauce honestly looked like someone had ejaculated all over his steak. It smelled like that too. He slowly closed it, pushing it as far as possible from himself, covering his mouth with one hand. He turned towards Dean, heaving with disgust.

  
« - You see what I see right ? I’m not crazy ? » He asks Dean, waiting for his response. But his brother is focused on the macabre dance of insects happening in his doggy bag to answer immediately. He can’t tear his eyes away from the spectacle they are giving even though he wants to.  
« - Yeah. I-I have fucking maggots in my ribs Sam. » It feels like saying it makes the scene even more real while bile comes up faster in his throat. He shuts his bag as fast as he can, grabbing Sam’s as he throws both of them out their room.  
« - Is it one of your jokes ? Because it’s really not funny. » He asks, slamming the door shut with one hand, the other busy pointing an accosting index at Sam.  
« - No. I swear I would never go this far. Dean, you know me. » Dean scrutinized his brother at that. Did he know Sam ? The new one ? The Stanford one ? Probably not. But he could trust him right ? He wouldn’t tell him his suspicions anyway, that would just hurt them both and they didn’t need this at the time.  
« - Where did you get these meals ? »  
« - A steak house down the road. I swear I didn’t know it was like that ! And the guy seemed super nice and it was a full house and it has good reviews on internet and how can you expect me to know the bastard was going to give us rotten food it’s not my fault country people are arses around here ! » He says, closing the distance between him and Dean. The latter takes a step back, inhaling as he maintains eye contact.  
« - I didn’t get half of the things you said but it’s okay Sammy. I trust you. You’re gonna take me there okay ? So we can go and see the guy who did this. »  
« - It’s Sam. But sure. »

  
Dean snorts. It would be Sam if he couldn’t refrain himself from getting pissy every time he got called Sammy. He turned, put his clothes back on and slicked his hair back with spit before opening the door. « - Let’s go. » He says, glancing at Sam over his shoulder. They have places to be.

* * *

 

    This time they take the car — Dean is too groggy to walk, and it’s rainy so he doesn’t want to get wet. He allows Sam to drive for three minutes, and he should be happy, no one drives his car except him usually. Or long travels. They park in front of the Steak House and Sam almost doesn’t recognize it now that it is closed.  
The whole building is dark, almost falling appart even. Insects are crawling all over it, moths, roaches, flies, maggots, spiders, creating a noisy buffet of whatever is in there. He spots the two buddies still on the stairs, motionless figures only lit by the moonlight. Sam wonders why they aren’t disturb by all the insects. People like them would either crush them under their shoes out of a complex of superiority — he saw that in Jessica’s psychology books — or run away if they were facing too many insects. But they were doing none of those options. They sat there in silence, one with his head thrown back while the other one stared at his shoes. Or that’s what he thought, he couldn’t see from where they were. He looked over at Dean. As startled as he was, he stared at the building with an expression between utter disgust and skepticism.

  
« - I think your buddy didn’t prank us. »  
« - Dean. I was there twenty minutes ago. There’s no fucking way so many insects would meet here in so little time. »  
« - Maybe you didn’t notice ? » Even he wasn’t convinced by this explanation.  
« - No dude. I went here, those two were laughing their asses off. » He says pointing at the two drunks on the stairs. « - When I left one of them was fucking dancing while the other one clapped. I went in it was a full house with people who hadn’t even been served. There was little kids, moms, big ass rednecks all over the place, even a dancer dressed like those girls in cowboys movies ! And no goddamn bugs everywhere ! It’s fucking crazy. »  
« - So what you are saying is that in twenty minutes this place went from cool ass far west themed restaurant to bug’s kingdom ? »  
Sam gave Dean a dirty look, pouting. « - Sort of. »  
« - Well I say we take one of the lamps we have and go see what the hell happened in this oh so fancy restaurant your honor chose. » Dean chanted as he bowed as much as he could. Sam slapped the back of his head. « - Don’t be a jerk. Google recommended it. »  
« - And since when do you listen to someone else than yourself ? » « - Since they sometimes good advices, contrary to someone I know. »  
« - I have no idea what you are talking about. »

  
They looked over at each other, chuckling. It felt so good to tease, to joke with the other again after four long years. Dean watched his brother goof for years, it was his favorite thing to do for a long time, seeing Sam being happy. He had the prettiest smile ever, the cutest one, the most magical one. It was like a balm on his soul every time he caught a glimpse of those white shiny teeth. He wanted to kiss them, grab Sam’s face and french kiss him until he’d be reduced to a moaning mess, a lavish, horny moaning mess between his hands, malleable in every way. Or he’d place small pecks all over his face, tickling him so he’d laugh more, so he’d be happy for a while longer. His love wasn’t exclusively lust, and his lust wasn’t only love. He was confused. He focused back on the present. Sam was looking at him through his lashes, a small smile on his lips and one hand moving towards his forearm. He blushed.

  
« - You’re staring Dean. » Sam whispered, turning his head in direction of the steakhouse. The bugs had vanished while they were laughing. Which wasn’t a reassuring fact at all.  
« - We should go and check whatever that was. I have a bad feeling about this. »  
Sam didn’t respond. He stepped out, grabbing a lamp torch from the glove compartment, followed by his brother as they walked to the restaurant. Both drunks had disappeared, leaving behind them a large burgundy spot on the stairs. Blood. The Winchesters glanced at each other, closing the small distance between them. « - I hope it’s not worse inside. » The cadet whispered.  
« - Sorry to disappoint ya but I doubt it. »  
They stepped in, covering their nostrils the second the door closed. It smelled like rot, death and excrements. All mixed together. Wet sounds all over the place, liquid infiltrating their shoes — mostly Sam who was wearing converses —, and everywhere the light it, a corpse popped up. They could distinguish organs slipping out of bellies, heads half-eaten left at random places in the bloody puddle they were walking in. All age, old, middle-age, children and even babies. Sam looked away, leaning into his brother. This was all too much.  
« - Let’s go back outside. There’s nothing left here. »  
« - Whatever you want. »  
« - And I want to go Dean. » The latter nodded, extending his arm to let his brother walk out first. Sam rushed out, bending next to the stairs to puke, Dean sliding next to him to hold his hair and caress him between the shoulder blades. He said nothing, just offered his presence and as much comfort as he could — he didn’t have a lot. Sam whipped his mouth with his sleeve, facing Dean again.  
« - Feeling better ? »  
« - Not really. What do you think caused that ? »  
« - I would have said ghouls but the fact that it took them less than twenty minutes erases this possibility. And the bodies seemed to have marinated for at least a week if not more, so now I’m just wondering why you saw some rural restaurant full of folks that weren’t butchered. Maybe a witch did this, created an illusion but why ? »  
« - Yeah well fuck that witch. Why would she butcher a big part of the city if not the whole lot just to dress an illusion to make me believe everything is going swell and then new found a literal meet up of hundreds of bugs and a whole fucking lot of corpses ? That makes no sense. »  
« - Let’s just call the cops and get the fuck out of town. »  
« - But Dean, you just drove twenty four hours and I don’t really feel like driving. »  
« - I don’t feel like staying near this mess Sam. I’ll call Bobby so he can put someone on this case okay ? »  
Sam wants to argue. To insist on the fact that Dean just drove twenty four hours and that he is in no condition to keep driving, that he himself doesn’t mind, that he’d stay if Dean wants, that he would drive if Dean asked. But he does none of that. Sam knows Dean, the stubborn side of his brother who’d make iron bend itself to let him have his ways. The determined Dean. He knows there is nothing he can do so he stays quiet and gets in the car.  
« - I’ll drive too. »  
« - Won’t be necessary. We get our stuff and we go. I’ll find a motel on our way, in the meantime, you sleep. »  
« - Dean- »  
« - You sleep. »

* * *

 

    An hour later, Bobby has someone on the Jerry’s Steak House case, they are in a motel with two queens which — for once — look somewhat decent, asleep. Well Dean’s asleep. Sam is too nervous to fall into Morpheus arms. He can’t get the images out of his head. He had been out of the life for so long, he had forgotten how horrible it could get, the images that stuck in your head afterwards, the smells, the sounds, how death affected you. For years he had been hermetic to those kind of feelings, he never thought that four years out would make him so… rusty. He felt dumb, unconscious. He had been so focused on his studies, Stanford, Jessica, all this shit that he had sort of forgotten about what was out there. No, not forgotten, he just paid less and less attention to it as months went by. Sure he still salted the windows, had an hunting knife stuffed under his pillow and knew his latin by heart but… it had faded away, clouded back in his brain. Just like the rest of his memories considering what he called his first life. The one with dad and Dean and monsters. The one with disposable friends, disposable homes, disposable cities, disposable flings, disposable identities. A disposable life of sort. One he would never go back to even if he dreamed of it. Not like he would ever go back to it. He had the perfect apple pie life displayed in front of him on a red carpet, no way he was ditching it for a dirt path. No fucking way he was leaving a potential wife, three kids, doggy and big house life for… for what exactly ? A brother he used to fuck with and a father he had wanted to strangle for years ? Unhealthy relationships with a side of dead-on-arrival ones ? No real ties, no real relationships except maybe one ? No. He would never go back to this nightmare. Never. He was determined.

  
But maybe he could keep contact with Dean. Brotherly ones. Perhaps they could see each other from time to time. Dean would come by Palo Alto, visit. They’d eat good food cooked by Jess, play video games — Dean always loved Mortal Kombat and King of Fighters —, grab a couple of beers, watch movies, maybe he could even buy Dean new clothes, they could take a ride in the car, love in the car. No, scratch that. Joke in the car. That sounded better. Don’t lie to yourself Sam.  
He trashes and turns, angry with himself for having such thoughts. No, he couldn’t take back Dean into his life. Too many shenanigans, too many memories.

  
Sam doesn’t sleep that night.

* * *

 

 

   Next day they finally arrive in Lake Milton. Small town with a population of 658 inhabitants and one hell of a beautiful lake. It was composed of so many diverse styles of architecture Sam’s first thought was : it’s a facade. He’d seen some weird mixes in his life (the whole campus was the very proof) but never had he witnessed some sort of ebony manor with gigantic windows, three floors, parking spots plus garages, a pool and what seemed like their own fauna sitting next to the classic american ranch with barns, animals and all the stuff farmers use daily. This city is odd he thinks, he likes odd but he’s not sure that his family shares his opinion.

  
They’re on a muddy path now, searching for the house Dean rented. Coke in his hand, teeth torturing the straw, wheel in his other hand. Sam stared, he was focused on the road, it seemed but Sam knew him, had learned over the year what dialect his body talked. He used to be fluent in it. Every time it got caught between his front teeth, it made a squishy noise, like a dying animal and it was annoying. Really annoying. Adding this to the fact that Dean never did this kind of stuff. Except when he was nervous. But on the other hand, if he was stressed, he would have told Sam about it. The latter had this on his mind for at least three hundred miles. The closer they got, the more Dean was acting weird.

  
« - Okay Dean what is it ? » He finally said, ripping the straw from his mouth.  
« - Hey ! I liked that straw ! But what do you mean ? »  
« - I mean, why the hell are you being nervous ? »  
« - I’m not nervous. »  
« - You body language says otherwise. »  
« - Stop perving then. »  
« - I ain’t perving. You’re just annoying me. » Dean scoffed. « - Keep telling yourself that Sammy, I’m sure someone will believe you one day. »  
« - You’re just a jerk. »  
« - Blah, blah, blah. »

  
Sam rolls his eyes. Obviously his brother isn’t mature enough to discuss whatever it is that weighs his conscience. They’re parking the car in front of what he assumes would be the house anyway. It’s a small cottage with white and orange wooden planks covering it, round windows — what the hell ? — and two stories. It seemed… familiar and cozy. Weird.

  
Dean hopped out of the car, which made Sam realize there was another car parked next to them, in their alley. A red used cabriolet. He already had a bad feeling lingering far back in his mind when Dean started acting up but now, he was sure there was something — or someone — in the house that was going to make him either furious or disappointed. Or maybe Dean had a very good surprise for him. No, the jerk wouldn’t.

  
He followed Dean, close behind him as they walked up the couple of stairs separating them from the door. Sam could almost hear Dean’s heart hit his chest faster and faster, louder and louder as they came closer. It was… suspicious. The more he studied his brother’s behavior, shape, action, the more he realized how terrified he was. Sweat prickling on his neck, faint shivers running down his body, the sound of his heart, his short breath, his constant glance behind him, his evident unwillingness to open the damn door. In the end, he didn’t even opened it, John did the job very well, casting on his two sons an icy look.

  
Time stopped. Everything around them stopped. The universe fell dead silent. No one talked, just breathed, sweated, heard a violence none of them knew they had in them. Sam’s pupils exploded, leaving close to no iris; his nostrils dilated, brows furrowed, fist clenched as his eyes washed over John who was calmer, even though his fists clenched, his nostril dilated, his brows furrowed, his jaw locked just the same. Like father like son. Dean had disappeared for them, reduced to a simple casualty, a fence refraining them from going for the other’s throat.

  
« - Hello Sam. » John flatly announced to break the ice. He was met with an explicit silence.  
« - I’m going to put the bags inside. »  
« - And I’m coming with you Dean. »  
Dean didn’t protest as he walked past his father, leading the way to the room they’d share for the rest of their time together. Perhaps. It had two queens, bedside tables, their own bathroom, and wardrobes. Sam didn’t intend to use them. Tonight he was leaving. No way he’d stay in the same house as his father.  
« - Sam… I can explain okay ? » He pleads, palms up in front of him.  
« - Oh I’m sure you can, you’ll always find an excuse. »  
« - Please Sam. »  
« - Fuck you. You don’t call for four fucking years, don’t give a sign of life and then you have the audacity to come back into my life, lie to my face and bait me here to put me in the same fucking house as him ! And you expect me to stay and trust you because of what ? Our brotherly bond ? What we share ? » He said, disdain dripping from his tongue. « I hope you don’t think there is anything but a blood link between us right now Dean because honestly you are nothing but a pile of problems for me. You always cause trouble wherever you are, wherever you go. That’s why you’re alone ! You throw people into troubles, you manipulate, you lie and bait. I don’t even know why I accepted to come with you, I fucking knew there was a rotten pot, it couldn’t be just you telling the truth, or picking me up for good reasons. It’s never like that with you. » After disdain, comes resignation. « - You better drive me back to Stanford tonight. I don’t want to stay here longer than I need to. »

  
Dean is silent, he doesn’t answer, just sit and watches Sam through his lashes. He grinds his hands together because he doesn’t want them ending anywhere near his brother’s neck. Yes, he has fucked up. Yes, he has an history of being absent. Yes, Sam has every right to blame him for whatever he goddamn wants — he’s always done it anyway — but that doesn’t mean he is not hurt, doesn’t mean he had a choice. He had a mission and he executed it. Dean’s been raised to execute and don’t ask questions. Sam too, so he should understand. They have the same father don’t they ?

  
« - Are you finished ? » He snarls.  
« - Yes. »  
« - Perfect. I’ll let you unpack then. Dad will want to talk to you about why we are here, I’ll let you two be. I have some sleep to catch so don’t wake me up.»  
He takes his jacket, his boots and jeans off before he slips under the covers. Dean has a lot of things he wants to say, a bathtub of them, but he won’t say them because Sam would win this argument, he always wins them one way or another.  
Sam snorts at this. He already knew Dean couldn’t be mature, he was well-aware of that fact, but this is the cherry on top of the shitty cake he’s been served. He stomps out of their mutual room, grabbing his duffle with him. Oh Dean can sleep all he wants, he’s not staying. Sam enters the main room in silence. John is here, he knows it, sees it and he has no desire to acknowledge him. They don’t need to talk, everything was said four years ago. So he walks towards the door.  
« - Sam. » His father calls.  
He doesn’t stop, doesn’t respond, doesn’t give a sign that he heard his father. Sam presses his lips in a thin line and makes a beeline for the door. The exit. He curls his fingers around it’s handle, turns. It doesn’t open. He turns it again, hearing the click that mean it’s locked.  
« - You locked the door ? » He asked, abruptly turning back towards his father.  
« - I did. »  
« - Why ?! »  
John gave him a cold, condescending look. He knew why. It was to prevent him from doing exactly what he intended to do, ‘cause of course his father would have predicted this. Or maybe it was Dean’s idea. Maybe.  
« - Go calm down in your room. We’ll talk when you’ll be settled. »  
« - No. I want to leave. Now. »  
« - And walk four thousands miles all by yourself ? Good luck with that. »  
« - Fuck you. »  
« - Watch your mouth Samuel. »

  
He obeys. Force of habit perhaps, or the fatigue suddenly falling on him. He pulls his bag on his shoulder a bit more, stomping into the room he shares with his brother. That traitor. Sam closes the door delicately, putting his bag down as he undresses too. He feels like all this was planned, it most likely was, and he wants to fight this pseudo-fate they are forcing on him again. He wants to fight the tiredness in his eyes and limbs, the calm that rushes over him once he’s under the covers, Morpheus when he grabs him and pulls him close in his arms, Dean’s light snores that serves as lullaby for him, the sun setting down. He wants to stay awake and run far far away from this trap. But he’s already defeated, and he’s too aware of that.

* * *

    It’s the purr of an engine far from them that wakes him up, and the smell of cheap pizza. He opens his eyes, stretches and yawn in his bed. He can see Dean sitting on his bed in black boxers, half-eating his pizza, half staring at some random sitcom he thinks Jess used to watch on Sunday mornings.The one in black and white almost nobody watched because they only distributed it on obscure channels far far from ABC, HBO and the rest of those big tv channels. But if it was morning, Dean wouldn’t be eating pizza right ? Or perhaps he would, who knew with his brother ?

  
Sam rolled on his side, focusing on all the small characters running around on the screen, he couldn’t hear what they were saying since Dean had apparently muted the whole thing and read subtitles instead, but they seemed to be arguing over some pieces of clothes one dude in a blouse wanted more than the bimbo screaming at him. Seemed boring. Utterly boring. Why was Dean wasting his time watching it ? Well he loved bimbos if Sam remembered well most of the hook-ups he saw or talked to.

  
He doesn’t want to watch tv right now. So Sam goes back to sleep, burying his head under the covers.

  
And Dean ? Dean catches every move his brother makes.

 

* * *

 

    Dean decides not to wake him up for the next hours. He can finish his own pizza alone, or he could keep some for his brother when he’d wake up. He doesn’t know if he’d want it though, or if he’d like it. Dean was a simple man, usually, today he had set his mind on a pizza named Ecatherina : mozzarella, fresh tomato and tomato sauce, parisian mushrooms, olive oil and rosemary served with two bottles of fancy water. Dean was a simple man, usually, but today he had decided to treat himself, present from Dean to Dean to prepare himself before the shit storm he knew was waiting to happen, prying in the tension between them. Suddenly he wasn’t hungry anymore. He stood up with his box half-full, placing it in the corner as he made a bee-line for the toilets. Peeing, what an useless function he sometimes thought. How much time did people waste every time they went into those tiny and squalid space ? Too much for his taste, not like he could do anything about it. He pushed his boxers down, taking the matter in hand as he considered with a mild interest the landscape in front of him — he couldn’t grasp for the life of him why would someone put such a gigantic window, not even a blurred one, in a bathroom, especially behind the toilets, where everyone could perv and catch glimpses of parts they were never supposed to see. Hopefully, the window gave a view of the arbor behind their house. It was pines, pines, pines and only pines with busks at their feet. They elegantly elevated themselves to the sky, some mornings getting tangled in clouds. He witnessed it when John didn’t find a way to occupy him. Last year had been a good year for his… cruel creativity. He sent Dean on hunts for two alone, misinformed him sometimes, gave him little to no money telling him he was an adult and he should be able to make his own — which always made him grit his teeth —, or making him go from one extreme of America to another, sometimes even forcing him to drive to Mexico or Canada for a while. Not that he complained of traveling but he would very much appreciate it if he could take some sort of vacation. He never talked about this to his father, John would never understand. John never tried to understand whatever it was his son(s) were feeling or thinking.

  
He shook his penis above the toilet, wiping it clean before flushing it and throwing his boxer somewhere in a corner. Shower time. Fingers turning rusty buttons he stepped underwater, allowing burning water drops to slip all over his reddening flesh, like soothing fingers caressing his body, a reassuring presence. Maybe if he closed his eyes he could fathom someone running their fingertips on his skin, tracing inexact patterns. Loneliness. He had learned to embrace it as cruel as it was. John never allowed him to get into serious relationships, with all the hunts he dropped on his shoulders. Not that he hated them, far from it, it could be a relief, severing a head from it’s body in one swift motions, beating to death some creature before burning it’s corpse, diving his silver knife in juicy flesh and feeling blood drops splatter all over his face — Sam used to call it red freckles when he was younger, so young —, breaking bones, tombs, hearts like he had his broken.  
Loneliness, she had been his companion ever since Sam left. Ever since the door slammed shut, every since he saw him cry so close he could have kissed him, ever since he had entered that bus and they were both dripping tears, ever since Sam had given him their last kiss, full of hatred, sadness and bitterness. A mess. A tragedy that pushed Dean to bury himself into hunts, women and « friendly » conversation with other hunters when he was forced to, with families when he was stuck, with Bobby when he slept there — as rare as that was —. For years his life had been tasteless, colorless, soundless. It hit him when he kissed Sam. An epiphany. His famine for his brother in every way took back it’s throne in the middle of chest, even more demanding and tyrannic.

  
He sighed, lowering himself to sit on his knees, head tilted up to receive every drop he could. _Tic. Tic. Tic. Tic_.He was wondering if Sam would stay true to himself and be stubborn. Or if he’d simply come along because he was already there and what was the point in leaving ? Knowing the kid, Dean was almost certain it’d would never be the latter, who was he kidding, hoping that Sam would stay with them ? Like the kid wasn’t ready to live a « normal » life as far as possible from his family. Sometimes Dean wished he had followed Sam on this path, perhaps he could have worked something that didn’t include risking his life on a daily basis. Perhaps. That was only sometimes anyway.

  
Shower time was over. He didn’t feel like palming himself, or think more about the sad mess his existence had become. Dean walked out of the shower, toweling himself a bit before wrapping said towel around his hips and grabbing his boxer to put them in the washing machine installed in their room, he’d start it once Sam would be awake and maybe throwing some insults in his face, motor noises always soothed him. Dean turned back to his duffle, fishing for some clean underwear, jeans and shirt — he planned on leaving the house later so he grabbed his socks too — that he managed to found by the sheer luck considering the state of his luggage now. A mess. He couldn’t distinguish anything so he simply grabbed everything that was black in there which happened to be a Led Zeppelin shirt, some overused black jeans and something that looked like his favorite crimson hoodie, not the most discrete but the comfiest without a doubt. He flicked his eyes over Sam’s sleeping form, estimating that going back to the bathroom to change was definitely not a necessity right now. He slipped into his clothes lazily, pushing the vice to sitting butt naked in his shirt and hoodie for a solid ten minutes, listening to the music he found into Sam’s iPod — he didn’t mean to grab it but it was displayed in front of him and temptation was too strong. And Sam music wasn’t as shitty as he thought it would be. Dean never thought he’d like Muse, or Mika for that matter but it was all pretty catchy and well, he liked catchy. There was trance too, some he had heard at that weird hippie chick he met in New Orleans — very tiny, very flexible, he remembered. She had given him some of the best herb he ever smoked and some ‘shrooms. Maybe he should visit her next time he comes around Louisiana, if there is ever a next time.

  
He slips into white boxers and his jeans, toes firmly held into black socks. Dean grabs a sheet of paper, scribbling that he’ll be back sometime around, he glances at his watch, an hour or two, and that Sam could call him, that there was pizza left and that he should really talk to Dad. Not that he had any hope for that to happen. He had other matters on his hands now. Like meet the local population, see if there was anyone interesting and new in town and in that case drill them about the area, what they thought of it, etcaetera.

  
Dean grabbed a small backpack a wealthy girl gave him as a parting present after a week he passed in her house. He always thought it was peculiar thing to give to a guy even if he had been glad to have something other than his duffle bag to carry stuff through the day — it wasn’t the most practicable item —. He slipped into his jacket too, checked if he had his amulet placed right and exited the room with religious silence, Sam needed to sleep.

  
John was still slumped in his couch, snoring loudly while the tv still whispered whatever it was they were diffusing on those channels. Heavy smell of beer, sweat too. _Yuck_. Dean made a bee-line to the backdoor, the one behind their kitchen well-hidden enough so you couldn’t notice it if you hadn’t done an investigation of the house before, and walked through the busks until he had reached the closest house he knew was part of the center. Everything was already well-mapped into his mind. He knew where every shop was and which one needed someone. Who went in and who didn’t. He hadn’t told John too but he proposed his help at the butcher shop — Lake’s Caramatas butcher shop— and often did some cutting for them, in all discretion and talent. Jean had been nice enough to accept him and pay a fair amount of cash, plus he sometimes had to keep Hippolyte, Jean’s son, who happened to be one weird motherfucker.

  
On his first babysitting with the kid, he had had to pursue him around the house for an hour, and play hide and seek for another one before the small child accepted to come eat his diner. It’s not even like he was hard to found or blended well enough with the house to disappear — the kid had platinum hair and was so white Dean originally thought he was a fucking corpse — but he was way more clever than the average twelve year old. They could have passionate discussion about nature for example, animals, knives and meats — kid planned on taking after his father. _Cute_.

  
Anyway, today nobody needed him so he allowed himself rest and jog his way toward the town’s most famous — and only — café. Held by the Bakers it served as boulangerie, café and restaurant. Jane worked as a waitress while her husband, Dough, was the chef. Their sons helped, sometimes; when they felt like it.  
He sat down in his favorite spot, not too close from the counter and doors but far enough so he’d be left alone. Jane saw him and winked, sashaying in his direction with her usual delicateness.

  
« - Dean darling ? What will you be taking today ? »  
« - Whatever you’re willing to give me young lady. » He winked back. A flirty smile displayed on his lips. The blonde chuckled in response, as usual.  
« - What a tease you are. I have some apple pie ready for ya. »  
« - You know me so well. »  
« - An easy task when your glutton ass comes here everyday. » Dean just snickered and winked again, taking his phone out of his bag the second she was out of sight. He had people to meet.

 

* * *

 

  
     When Sam wakes up he's alone. The TV is turned off, there's no sounds except the loud plops of rain hitting the window above him. Rolling on his back, he glances around him. Luxury. Ebony floor, ebony walls and large windows giving away a wonderful view on a sea of pines. A chimney made of rock and glass shining with the light coming from the window above him. It’s all so beautiful and unreal that he pinches himself, he can’t be in something like this, he doesn’t belong in something like this, they can't afford something like this. He hops out of bed, keeping in his throat the guttural sounds of satisfaction and pleasure as his feet reach the fur carpet. It’s so soft, so pretty, so shiny and contrasting with his pale feet, he doesn’t know what to say. What is there to say anyway ? To whom ? It's just him here, discovering new sensations.

  
« - Dean ? » A call.

  
His question is met with thick silence. Not a step, not a breath, not even a moan in case the perv was shaking sweet little Jesus in the bathroom. Silence. Sam wasn't fond of silences. No, he loathed silences. Nothing seemed worse than silences sometimes.

  
« - Dean ?» A plea.

  
Eyes roaming around the room he analyses everything : Dean's bed is still a mess, there's no water running, his iPod abandoned on the floor, the pizza smells a lot and Dean's jacket isn't there anymore. Maybe he left ? Without finishing his pizza ? _I don't think so, the prick wouldn't leave me a slice if I was about to die_. He walked towards the table, careful of his surroundings still — never knew what could jump him, perhaps his brother was playing yet again one of his stupid pranks — but he only found a note and cold pizza. Great. So Dean was out and he's most likely alone with his dad. Great like he said.

  
Sam grabs sweatpants from his duffel bag, sliding in them as if they were his second skin. Maybe he could sneak out, or wait for Dean, or call Dean even. But does he want to call this traitor ? This guy that dares calls himself brother but still stabs him in the back and drags his corpse right into the wolf's mouth. No. Yes. Probably. Okay, yes he wants to call because otherwise he'll die of boredom in the next hours. But now another question places itself before his eyes : where the hell is his phone ? Did he even bring his phone with him ? _Good question Sam, should have asked yourself that when you left Stanford, would have been useful_.

 

He dives back into his bags, trying to find this damn Gucci flip phone — Jess gave it to him when she broke his phone accidentally, he never thought about buying another one even though this item was frankly ridiculous — between boxers, shirts more boxers, pants — were those Jess panties ? — and more boxers. Turned out the whole entreprise was useless since he noticed — only when his duffle was empty — that it was resting on the nightstand, almost smirking ironically, mocking even.

  
"- Well fuck you too phone. » Sam muttered as he took it angrily between his fingertips, flipped it open with his index — which, ouch almost broke his damn nail — and dialed his brother's number — who had ended up here how ?  
Dean answered on the first tone.  
« - Hey sleeping beauty.»  
« - Fuck off will you. Where are you ? »  
« - Someone's in a mood. I'm in town. Interrogating town folks.»  
Sam can hear rain falling on his brother's phone, allowing him to visualise a soaked Dean, water dripping on his freckles from his short strands of hair. He doesn't need that.  
« - About what ? » There's an heavy sigh on the other side of the line.  
« - Don't tell me you haven't talked to Dad yet. » He can almost feel Dean roll his eyes.  
« - Well what do you think ? I'm still upset and you can't argue that I have every right to be. »  
« - Fur sure dude. Anyway, get dressed I'll be in our room in ten and I'm dragging your ass to a diner so we can have a decent breakfast. »  
Sam hummed and hung up. He didn't have to shower — he wasn't that smelly anyway — so maybe he could just put a shirt on, boxers would probably be a good idea too, socks, and a sweater or hoodie, as long as it was warm he'd take anything. Really.

  
He settles for his grey Stanford hoodie and the sweats he's already wearing — he's just being lazy, blame him — plus cute socks he stole from Brady. And then he took the time to arrange his duffle bag and what it was supposed to contain for it to look the least bit presentable. Not that anybody would judge it. Dean perhaps but his opinion doesn't count.

  
Dean's opening the door the second he's hiding his duffle bag under his bed, making them exchange questioning looks.  
« - Is he awake ? »  
« - No. Are you ready ? »  
« - Yeah. » 

* * *

 

    Twenty minutes and they're seated at the diner table in silence, Sam eats, Dean watches him a coffee in his hand. Black. It's not companionable, it's not pleasant, it's just awkward and tense. Sam never looks at his brother directly, brother who keeps staring as if he was the ninth world's wonder.  
« - Could you stop it please ? » He finally begs, pushing a fork full of salad between his lips. It's just a whisper, a small noise but it startles Dean, interrupts the contemplation he's in. He blushes, turns away.

  
It's still hard for him to realize that Sam is now a grown man. An handsome one at that. With his stupid bangs and stupid fox eyes and stupid dimples and stupid moles and stupid lips that curves in Cheshire smiles when he's satisfied and stupid height. These stupid details he loves so much.  
Sam finishes his plate and pushes it away, attacking the huge hot chocolate Jane offered him. He's still not watching Dean, just a point behind him.

  
« - So. Why did you drag me here ? And don't lie this time. » He ask, chasing a wild bang from before his eyes.  
« - Look at me Sam. »  
The youngest flicked his gaze back on his brother, brows furrowed. Dean could almost see his lips press in a thin line behind his mug. Almost.  
« - We're in the same boat here okay ? »  
« - I frankly doubt that. » Sam deadpanned, taking another long sip of his beverage.  
\- Do whatever you want, I'm not here to please you. I don't like this much more than you do and I'm not super happy to be here either. All I know is that there are a fuck ton of hunts popping around here and Dad asked for our help because he fears there's much more to it. »

  
Sam scans him with his eyes, tries to feel the trick coming. To be honest, he wants it to come, slap him in the face with Dean laughing and screaming « It was a joke Sammy, don’t be so serious ! What crawled up your butt and ate your sense of humor ? Don’t pout, you know it’s funny ! ». But Dean does none of that, he stays there, gaze melting in Sam’s, pouring annoyance and a tiny bit of something else he can’t quite grasp. That’s when it hits him that there is no joke. Dean’s dead serious. It angers him, infuriates the part of him that wanted nothing to do with hunting anymore. How could Dean, of all people, have the audacity to stab him like that ?

  
« - How could you drag me back in the life ? » A growl. Before he knows it his hand has gripped Dean’s, trapped it between his long fingers. And he knows the effect it has on his older brother. He’s delighted and scared shitless. He craved contact, but he’s aware of what it means, of what kind of storm is coming for him. Dean doesn’t answer. He slides his other hand over Sam’s mug, subtilizing it from his brother’s hands to finish it. People are staring, especially Jane.

  
« - Let’s go. » He says, tearing his hand from Sam’s grip. They maintain eye contact as they leave, close to one another while being far at the same time. An invisibly close distance made out of tension and bitter feelings. Dean looks away, winks at Jane and pays as they leave, silence filling the spot they left. No one moves, no one talks. Paralyzed by fear in a way they’d never imagine. Jane stares as they leave, she’s scared for Dean. She’s scared for herself. The door slams behind them. 

* * *

 

 

 There’s a strong wind against their faces as they stand outside, facing each other in silence, staring, examining. It’s odd, and unexpected on Dean’s part but it’s not unpleasant. He’d rather be scrutinized by Sam than yelled at or punched. They are in an alleyway. Small, dirty, smelly alleyway. And they are close, so close, it reminds Dean of the night Sam left him for Stanford, it’s just not as tragic and sad as that night, it’s more… calm.

  
« - Why Dean ? » Sam questions in a strangled voice. He looks down at Dean, through his lashes. He hadn’t realized Sam had gotten that tall. Not really. Or maybe he simply didn’t pay attention enough. Anyway.  
« - Why what ? » It’s a murmur. He thought he’d been louder but perhaps it was better that way. It gave them intimacy and he craved such intimacy.  
« - Why did you trick me into coming with you ? I need to know Dean. Please. » Oh so pretty when he begs. Sam has gotten closer, so much Dean can feel his breath against his lips.

« - I… I had to. He wouldn’t take no for an answer. You have no idea how it was after you left Sammy, he got worse and worse. Plus, we can’t take these cases alone, there are too many. »  
Sam stares, not convinced at all by this explanation. He doesn’t believe it, doesn’t want to. What he needs is a reason to paint him as the villain in this story. He needs to find someone to be angry at, somebody he can blame and Dean fits perfectly the job. Or maybe he just wanted to hear something different, perhaps.  
His stare hardens as he walks back away from Dean.

  
« - You could have called Bobby. » He states coldly as he runs out of the alleyway as fast as he can. Dean just watches him walk away. Powerless.

* * *

 

« - Yo I’m home. » He yells in the hall, dropping his bag near the door as he takes of his shoes, shoes that he then throws away near the dogs. They look at it once while he searches something in his backpack, they make sure he’s not looking because they know how he reacts when they touch his shoes, but they are so tasty, much more than the pâté he gives them everyday, so they glance back at it, tentatively get up and walk to it, licking their lips. Mouths opening slowly around the outline, drool already dripping between their unaligned teeth, the two dobermans closed in on the clothe, biting vividly into it. He noticed. Whatever he was searching he left behind, almost diving between the two beings, ripping them away from his precious shoe. One hand on their collars, he throws them back into their niche, taking back his shoes with a disgusted frown on his face. _Those dogs will never learn_. He puts them up, taking his bag with him to the kitchen. Now he feels hungry. Didn’t happen often nowadays but still. He throws nonchalantly his backpack on kitchen island, takes the phone he had been searching for earlier. He then makes his way to the pasta drawer, takes a pack of rigatonis and pesto, mixes the whole thing in the water and puts an alarm for twelve minutes. He then leaves the kitchen alone, heading for the other floors of their house. It was odd. Or rather it hid something. At first glance, you could think it was one of those modern houses conceived for wealthy families or CEOs, it had everything of those. At least four floors, a facade made of glass, ebony wood and cement painted in black for discretion. Gigantic windows offering a false sense of transparency on every floor. Big metallic doors on every sides, a parking. And that was only the outside. Inside, there was a pool, multiple bathrooms, rooms bigger than necessary, a living room larger than a house, a kitchen with all the new technology and utensils they could ever need, they even had an interior tropical garden where they grew weeds, plants, vegetables, fruits, spices. And then there was the room. The one he could not access. Yet.

  
He clicked on one of the light switches, letting a red watery light wash over the ground floor. It scared the dogs shitless but he loved it. He took his headphone, placing it on top of his head as he lays down on one of the carpets. It makes a low electronic buzz as it accepts his presence, his touch. He relaxes, it is what has to be done before he starts the ritual, it is primordial.

  
Once he’s done that, he bites his lips once, hard enough to make blood come out and slip on his tongue. He closes his eyes, places his hands behind his head, crosses his legs and arches his back. « - O, bozhestvennoye sushchestvo, ya teper' predlagayu sebya vam, dayte mne moye zhelaniye, i pozvol'te mne uvidet' togo, kogo ya tsenyu. » He mumbles, passing his hands in his hair.

  
His pupils changes, turn metallic and still. His chest heaves faster, he inhales through his mouth, hard and then lets out a sigh, chuckling. He remains like that for a while, silent, watching whatever it was he chose to focus on. A chuckle or a small frown left him from time to time but mostly he stayed silent. Until his alarm rang, throwing him out of his vision. He threw his headphone away, getting up to get his pastas.

  
« - Couldn’t even finish it. » He mumbles, grumpy.

* * *

 

 

 Sam clicks his tongue, looking around again. He’s been walking around for a while. After his dispute with Dean he didn’t feel like going back to the apartment they rented. It was the last place on earth he wanted to be. And Dean was the last person he wanted to see.

  
He keeps plodding around in the forest, shooting in piles of leaves from time to time, watching the sky and trees on other occasions. There’s nothing else to do to occupy his thoughts anyway. Sam sneezes. _Great, now I’m sick_. He feels the snot slipping from his nose, crashing on his mouth. _Gross_. He swipes it on his sleeves as he sits down on a stomp. Walking around like he did, he didn’t notice he went that deep in the forest. He couldn’t even make out a clearing from where he was. It was all pines and bushes and small animals crawling or jumping everywhere. Not that he didn’t like that, not at all. More like he was not in the mood for a journey of admiring trees and the goddamn fauna. Plus there is nothing to do. He’s bored. Really bored.

  
Taping his fingers against his jaws, he tries to find something mildly interesting. There’s nothing. Utterly nothing. His mind wanders back to Dean, like it always does. But this time the simple thought of his brother leaves a sour taste in his mouth. He feels bitter and sad and disappointed. Sure, he didn’t expect a love declaration from Dean but at least a « I missed you », or « I wanted to work with you again. » would have sufficed. But no, mister Dean Winchester had to be manly, he couldn’t get sentimental or let his feelings out once in a while. It was too much to ask.Why would you ever want that Sam ?While they were on the road he thought they had found their old dynamic back. Dean made him feel special in how he looks at him like he is the only one that matters. When Dean puts his eyes on him he feels loved, unique, wanted. He feels like he could just let himself rest between Dean’s arms and melt as if his love was more burning than a volcano. As if every time he felt his fingers against his skin he could fly. But now that Dad was here, it was the macho routine all over again. Whenever Dad is around they have to pretend. Sam can pretend, he’s good at pretending. Dean too, he excels at that.

  
But it still hurts like hell. It hurts when they have to create more distance between them. It hurts when Dean chooses to ignore him in favor of obeying to John. It hurts when he doesn’t defend him, when he makes it seem like his opinion doesn’t matter in the slightest but still comes late at night whisper in his ear lies on top of lies. It hurts when he flirts with waitresses right under his nose. It hurts every time but he pretends that it doesn’t because what else could he do ? Talk about it ? Yeah right, not a very effective solution if what happened earlier was any clue.

  
Placing his head between his hands, he sighs. He didn’t though it would be that hard to be around Dean again. He didn’t imagine that they’d slip back into their old relationship right away, or that all the trust they used to share would come back in a wink but… he really thought Dean wouldn’t lie like this to him. It’s not like the Dean he knew, the one he loved. But maybe that Dean lied too. Maybe he tricked him too back then. Hell he probably did and Sam didn’t even notice. I should have stayed with Jess. Thinking about her, maybe he should call her. She’s probably worried. He kind of hopes she is.

  
Sam takes his phone out and dials her number. One tone, two tones, three tones…

  
« - Hello ? » Her voices cracks through the phone, inquiring.  
« - Hey Jess. It’s Sam. »  
« - I know it’s you… Sam. » She chuckles through the phone. « How’s it going ? Have you found your father yet ? » He can hear the worry in her voice. Good. He needs something real right now. Something honest.  
« - I’m fine I guess ? Thanks. You ? » Another chuckle answers him. He loves it.  
« - You guess ? Sam, you’re either good or not. Come on, tell me everything. »

  
He sighs, aware that he can’t really flirt his way out of that one. Still, he can pass some parts under the rug. Not mentioning is not lying. At least it’s what he tells himself when he explain that him and his brother were « attacked » by cockroaches and that the road was hard and that they had different opinions on certain subjects. Euphemisms again and again. By the time he’s finished Jess is laughing her ass off on the line which, pulls a smile out of Sam.

  
« - Babe, you’re so unlucky. »  
« - I know, I know. After all, you’re my girlfriend so I must be the unluckiest guy on earth. »  
« - Ouch. If you’re so unlucky, I should drop your sorry ass. »  
« - Wouldn’t that make me lucky if we follow your logic ? »  
« - You’re too clever for your own good. I gotta bounce, love you. »  
« - Me too. »

The line dying hurts him, but he can deal with it. Soon it’ll be over. Soon, he’ll be back in Jessica’s arm, he’d lose himself in her dirty blonde curls, and her lengthy longline body, and her plush lips and her smooth voice. It’s all that matters. _The only thing that matters._

* * *

 

    Dean’s gone grocery shopping after Sam left, not right away but he got there, he did his task. Sure, he might have lost himself in that ridiculously small store — not because of one’s particularly bad sense of orientation but rather because of too many invasive thoughts —, and sure it might have taken him one hour instead of ten minutes to grab whatever was the cheapest brand of vital foods but at least he managed to do it. He accomplished something that, in an odd way, made him feel better about himself and reduced the hollow feeling in his chest. Perhaps it even buried for an instant all the negative emotions that blossomed within him once Sam dropped his last bomb, his final punch, the fatal and final stab pointed directly at his heart : « _You could have called Bobby_ ».

  
When he heard it he wondered how a sentence could possibly feel this wrong, how it could slip under one’s skin and itch like a bug scratching it’s way out. He placed his items in the bag precisely so it wouldn’t pierce the plastic, it’d be a bitch to transport his belongings without a bag. How Sam could believe such a thing, that he would have rather called Bobby instead of him is a mystery to him. As if that was even remotely possible. He thought he could never lie to Sam, or that the dialect between them would never cease to be understood, guess he was wrong. He snorts. Dean puts both bags on one arm while he walks back home, he’s no too far, but it still a walk. He doesn’t pay attention to the path, his surroundings. He’s too absorbed in his own misery to grasp whatever is defiling around him. Dad would kill him if he saw how careless he was, how empty he looked from the outside, how detached from everything. An empty shell.

  
He doesn’t register when he enters their home, doesn’t notice when his dad says hi, doesn’t hear him explain whatever plan he has prepared, nor that he reeks of whisky, or that he’s still in his « pajamas ». Dean stores everything he bought in the fridge carefully, wants it to look organized for once.

  
« - Dean are you listening to me ? » His father ask with not even a pinch of tenderness. Sometimes, he wondered if he really loved them. He knows the answer is yes because it must be yes, otherwise they’d be dead or monsters or worst, he’d have abandoned them somewhere years ago.  
« - Yessir. » He responds. It’s automatic, mechanical. Of course he lies, he doesn’t listen to him, not really.

  
John keeps talking in the background. Maybe he knows that Dean isn’t paying attention, or maybe he doesn’t, he probably doesn’t. It should annoy Dean but… he’s sort of numb right now, and he couldn’t care less about John. He finishes storing food and throws the bag away, doesn’t spare his father a glance as he gets rid of his shoes and jacket that he drops somewhere near the couch. He lays on it, curling in a ball. Migraine. He’s sleepy, wants his muscles to relax but he’s so tense, left here wishing for a soothing touch, a hand running down his spine, stretching him like a cat. Someone who’d grab him between gigantic hands and take him away from his thoughts. A warm embrace, a soft press of lips, a tongue against a jugular, limbs tangling with other limbs. An organized mess is what he needs, it’s what he’s used to. He’d never admit it but he likes habits and routines even though he craves adventure too. It’s in his nature, runs in his veins, ingrained in his very brain cells.

  
« - Dean. I’m gonna head into next town for a hunt, I’ll be back tomorrow morning, maybe. Tell your brother to stop being such a sissy and start working. I didn’t tell you to bring him here to have another mouth to feed. »  
« - Yessir. »  
« - You have twenty dollars, don’t waste ‘em. »

Dean thinks it sounds like a threat when his dad says that. He ignores him and gets up, the moment is ruined. Might as well take another shower. The door slams behind him, as always, not a goodbye, not a soft word. Nothing. Maybe he doesn’t love him as much as he used to. Or maybe he’s just become rougher around the edges. Whatever. He hears the cabriolet John’s renting start and the backdoor open. Sam’s here. Or maybe a burglar. Either way he doesn’t want to see the person that’s coming in.

  
« - He’ll be gone for how long ? » Sam asks, his tone harsh. Dean doesn’t even turn his way, he grabs the remote and turns on the TV to see whatever shitty program is on. He doesn’t feel like answering Sam, doesn’t want to but he never can say no to whatever Sam is requesting, not for long, he’s too aware of that. He doesn’t have the strength to fight.

  
« - A day or two I think. I don’t know. »

  
Sam doesn’t answer, he just goes to his room. Dean doesn’t even care, he just closes his eyes and let’s sleep sweep him away.


End file.
